It was beer week, and so the Sycamore had a whole different menu to choose from. In the middle of the afternoon, there were only two other people here besides me and the bartender, so he was able to give me plenty of personalized attention — maybe an uncomfortable amount — as I read up on my new choices.
He also explained to me what was, at least that week, the bar’s new masking policy. “I need to see your vaccine card and your ID. After that, wearing a mask is optional.”
He had to go over it with everyone who came in, over and over again, to the point where I felt bad for him. This is probably happening in bars all over the city now. Freedom sometimes leads to confusion.
After talking things through, I ordered a “Loose Leaf” farmhouse ale by Fort Point (in collaboration with the Fox Tale Fermentation Project). It’s $8 for 12 oz., and I have to say I’m a fan. It combines “deliciously complicated” with “refreshing,” tasting lightly of botanicals and vanilla. Once beer week is over, I need to find out where else this is served.
I ordered a pulled pork sandwich, took my beer, and sat down at an indoor table. The doors and windows were open, it was a bright and sunny day; this was both pleasant and safe, right?
Surely we all know what we’re doing.
Sometimes you go to a bar because it’s close and it’s open. That’s why I was at the Sycamore last week. It’s a lovely spot, small and intimate with art on the walls that’s created by local artists, a nice backyard area, a strong beer list and good food.
But, that day, it was open when I needed it, and that’s all that mattered.
I’d wanted to go to Giordano Bros., because I’d seen they were closing at the end of the month. That’s a bar that I almost never go to, but I am glad it’s there. I mean, come on, where else do you go for sandwiches with the fries in the sandwich? I’m not a sports-bar guy, but it’s a great example of the form, and I’ll miss it.
But they didn’t open until 4 and I had a place I needed to be at 5 and … well, I just didn’t think it was going to happen. Which maybe is a fitting end to my relationship with a bar that I didn’t usually go to.
Even mostly empty, the Sycamore feels alive, which makes me feel a little more alive. I’d spent part of my afternoon downtown getting a Covid-19 test so that I could attend a big underground party on Saturday. Vaccines required, a negative PCR test within 48 hours required, and mask-wearing required during the entire event. Much stricter rules than going to a bar. I associate the Sycamore with some of those art parties, because it’s a bar where some of the people who throw those parties hang out. Or at least used to. Who knows, anymore?
Two girls with some travel gear on their backs, speaking a foreign language to each other, came in and asked for mixed drinks. The Sycamore doesn’t serve mixed drinks, or shots: It’s licensed for beer and wine only. The bartender recommended Uptown to them, another bar that has a connection to the city’s art underground scene. It’s a great choice but … but … it might not be open now. Their faces fell.
“Just walk along Valencia street,” he told them. “You’ll find something.”
Yep. Some days, that’s how this works. Some days, I love that. Some days, it’s just exhausting.
Before I went downtown for a covid test, I went to North Beach for the first time in probably three years. I used to go there at least once a month. But then … then, my world got small. For much of the last two years, it felt like my world had shrunk down to a 15-block radius around my apartment. I didn’t go anywhere.
When bars opened up, I started going to the Mission again. And, this one time, to the DMV. I do take the occasional day trip out of town. But I’ve been to the East Bay lately more often than I’ve been to most parts of San Francisco. My world still feels small.
But North Beach … North Beach is really nice. I was struck by how nice it was. I think I’ve been desensitized to the raw human misery and the raw human smells of the Mission. I had a coffee at Cafe Trieste, browsed City Lights, had a Pisco Punch at The Comstock Saloon … things I used to do sporadically that I had almost entirely forgotten about.
Is it that, as we emerge out of pandemic time, we are different? Or were we never what we thought we were? Something’s changing: Liquor license trends have been moving away from downtown.
“People don’t come here as much anymore,” my friend in North Beach told me. “It’s not desolate by any means, but it’s quieter. It’s kind of nice.”
Another traveling woman came into the Sycamore. She told the bartender she’s from Portland, and down here for a show. She was also disappointed that this is a beer bar, but unlike the others she commited and headed off to the back patio.
“People are still working,” the bartender told the other customer with me in the front room. “Things will pick up in about an hour. Until then, yeah, we get people from everywhere just wandering in.”
A moment later, both of them left, and I was alone in the bar for a while. I stared out the windows, watched the world go by, and imagined I could feel the weight of history on us.
The Mission feels a lot more ragged. Giordano Bros. first opened in North Beach, then moved to the Mission, and soon it will be gone. In both places, it was close to bars and cafes that had lasted 60, 70, sometimes 100 years.
Were there times before when San Francisco felt stable? Or has it always seemed like everything and everyone is just hanging in there by our fingernails. Between the gold rush, the world wars, the Beats, the ’60s, the ’70s, the first tech boom … maybe not? Maybe we have always been a rough, transient city, and a body in motion tends to stay in motion.
The bartender came back, and I ordered another beer. A new customer came in, and once again the bartender said “I need you to stay maked until I’ve seen your vaccine card and ID. After that, masking is optional.” That’s our theme song for today.
Bars are all going to need to go over their individual masking policies with every customer for a while, but maybe that’s just an empty formality. As I’ve been out drinking lately, it has felt like we’re all going back to normal, even though this still isn’t normal. Mission bars recently have felt more like Mission bars used to feel; North Beach felt like North Beach; I was recently out in the Castro on a weekend night, and it looked and felt like the Castro.
Maybe when every bar in the city is told, “you can choose your own policy,” they’re all basically going to choose the same policy because it’s the path of least resistance. We just don’t want to be bothered with protocols anymore.
We’ll see.
The bartender poured his new customer a drink and they talked about beer week, which they agreed has been lackluster and slow. Not the way it used to be. Then they started comparing notes about which local breweries are open again.
A few minutes after that, I reluctantly got up to leave. I had someplace else I was supposed to be. You drink at a bar like this, on an afternoon like this, when you are in-between having places to be.
I don’t come here as often as I used to, but I would miss it terribly if it were gone.
The Sycamore is a hidden gem. Thanks for writing this.